Death & the Viking's Daughter

by Loretta Ross

  It was Edgar who had asked for a sippy cup of juice for her little boy and had them bring him some dry cereal. It didn’t seem to have occurred to Madeline that the toddler might see her eating and want to eat too. Edgar had poured the cereal out on the tray of the high chair for him and the little guy was concentrating on picking the pieces up and shoving them in his mouth. Every time his mother said the name “Death,” the toddler’s head came up and he looked around hopefully. When he suddenly pounded his fists on the tray, kicked his feet, and said “Deese! Deese!”, Edgar knew before even looking that his future son-in-law was outside the window.

  He followed Benji’s gaze and found Death at the end of the sidewalk, looking at them in, if Edgar was reading him right, surprise and dismay. His vehicle was nowhere in sight. His face was flushed and even at this distance Edgar could see that he was breathing heavily, as if he’d run a marathon.

  Madeline turned to look at him and her eyes narrowed. “Walked here,” she said with a frown. “He’s such an idiot. You know, he has a perfectly good handicapped parking pass. He could drive over here and park right by the door and no one could say a thing, but do you think he uses it?”

  Death gave them a slight nod and walked toward the entrance. Edgar drained his coffee and sat back, curious to see how this was going to play out.

  The bell over the door jangled. Death came in and headed for them. One of the waitresses cut him off.

  “Hey, darlin’! No Wren this morning?”

  “No, I’m just on my way over there. Can I get a dozen donuts to go?”

  “Sure thing.”

  She left to get his donuts and he came over to the booth where Edgar and Madeline were sitting. Benji was bouncing in his high chair and

  he immediately held up his arms to be picked up. Death obliged and the child wrapped himself around the former Marine, lay his head on his shoulder, and sighed.

  Death turned to the adults. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Just getting some breakfast,” Edgar said. “What are you up to?”

  “I was going to head over to Wren’s house. I thought I’d take some donuts.”

  “You walked?”

  “Yeah. It’s just across the square.”

  “Why don’t you ride back with me?” Edgar said. “Someone can take you over to get your car later if you need it.”

  “If it wouldn’t be an imposition, sure. Thanks.”

  “Oh.” Madeline sat up and looked from one of them to the other. “We’re going to need a ride home.”

  Death peered at her. “Where’s his car seat?”

  “I, uh …”

  Death’s face darkened. “Dammit, Madeline! If you’re driving him around with no car seat—”

  “I’m not, okay? Jeez. That was one time.”

  “It only takes one time. I will turn you in. So help me God, I will.”

  “I’m not, all right? We rode here with Eric, but he freaked out and ditched us. I don’t know why. The car seat is in the back of his car.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  “He just suddenly up and said he had to go to work.”

  Death nodded sharply and juggled Benji so he could get his phone out. He touched a couple of buttons and waited a moment to speak.

  “Hey, Chief ? Yeah, it’s me. Listen, do you know where Eric Farrington has gotten to?… He is?… Uh huh … No, he just ditched Madeline and Benji at the coffee shop and the baby’s car seat is in his car. Can you make him come pick them up and take them home? Okay, thanks. Okay, bye.”

  He hung up. “Eric will be here in a couple of minutes.”

  “Okay. Great.”

  Death pulled a chair over and sat down and an awkward silence ensued. The waitress brought his donuts and he paid for them, and then she waved two more bills at Edgar and Madeline.

  “Who gets the bad news?”

  “Oh,” Madeline said, “Eric was supposed to be treating us. I didn’t even think. I don’t have my purse.”

  Death reached for it with a resigned air but Edgar took it first. “I’ve got it,” he said.

  “Thank you so much,” Madeline simpered. “You’re such a sweetie. I can certainly see where Wren got her kind disposition.”

  Death rolled his eyes and bounced the baby on his knee.

  When Eric Farrington showed up again, he sat in the parking lot in his car and honked the horn. They left the coffee shop in a group. Death insisted on buckling Benji into his car seat personally. Madeline climbed into the front, and Edgar went and stood by the driver’s door and made small talk while Eric stuttered out replies and tried not to hyperventilate.

  Death Bogart said goodbye to the child who was not his son and closed the door. Edgar tapped one finger on the driver’s window, which Eric had rolled up almost all the way. Eric looked up at him fearfully and Edgar met his eye.

  “You drive carefully with that baby in the car.”

  “Yes, sir! I am, sir! I will, sir! Goodbye, sir!”

  Edgar stepped back and Eric put the car in gear and eased away. Edgar and Death came together behind it and watched them leave.

  “I caught Eric poaching one time,” Edgar explained. “Or trying to poach. With a bow and arrow. He put an arrow in my truck tire. I yelled a little bit.”

  He led the way to his truck. He’d unhooked the camper and left it in his daughter’s yard, but he was used to having it attached so he’d still parked at the edge of the lot, where there was more room to maneuver. When they were standing on opposite sides of the vehicle, ready to get in, Death stopped and just looked at him through the cab.

  “Mr. Morgan,” he said, “I want to say something.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want you to like me. You and your wife both. I really do. And it’s nerve-wracking because I don’t know what you expect of me, or what you want. And I know Madeline, and I can only image what she might have told you. But ultimately, the only thing that I can be is me. And I know where I stand with Wren. That’s what matters to me more than anything.”

  Edgar just nodded and got in behind the wheel. After a moment, Death joined him.

  “Cute little boy,” Edgar said after a moment. “How old is he?”

  “About fourteen months?”

  “Do you see him often?”

  “I babysit every chance I get. I’d take him, if she’d let me have him.”

  Edgar just nodded and didn’t say anything more about it.

  East Bledsoe Ferry was a small town and the drive to Wren’s house didn’t take long. When they arrived they went in and found Wren and her mother at the kitchen table drinking coffee and unwrapping pots and pans from the newspaper they’d been packed in.

  Edgar went to the stove and poured a cup of coffee. Emily was red in the face and Wren looked miffed.

  “I just think you’re rushing this,” Emily said. “Getting married is a big step and buying a house together is a big step and I don’t see any reason you can’t wait a little bit and make sure you know what you’re doing.”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Edgar said. “Death’s a good boy.” He slid the coffee he’d just poured over to the younger man and poured another cup for himself. Death looked stunned. He opened his mouth and closed it again without saying anything.

  “Well …” Emily hesitated. “If you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Edgar went around the table to an empty chair, dropping his big hand on Death’s shoulder in passing. He settled himself at the table, took a sip from his cup, and set it down.

  “I’d like to have a look at that house before you close on it, if you don’t mind,” he said.

  “I … uh … yeah.” It took Death a minute to find his voice. “Yeah, that’d be great. I’d love to have your opinion.”

  “Wren and I will come too,” Emily decided. “We can bring a
tape measure and measure the windows. And I want to see this grave in the rosebushes. I’ve seen it before, but I wasn’t really paying attention at the time.” She looked at Death. “You’d better start calling us Mom and Pop.”

  eighteen

  “So do you want to hear something a little weird?” Death asked.

  With her mother’s help, Wren had unpacked the pots and pans they’d need to cook Thanksgiving dinner. She made a note to go out later and dig out enough nice dishes and glassware to set a respectable table. Edgar’s endorsement had completely allayed Emily’s reservations about Death and she was cheerfully helping them make plans. At her suggestion, they were going to start packing spare linens and out-of-season clothing next. At the moment, though, they’d run out of boxes, so they took the coffee and donuts into the living room and made themselves comfortable.

  “I’m always interested in weird things,” Wren said. “Whatcha got?”

  “I think I’ve figured out who’s behind the missing painting. You’ll never guess who it is.”

  “Someone I’ve heard of ?”

  “Yup.”

  Wren thought about it. “Well, it couldn’t be the guy who owned it, or the man who owns the museum.”

  “Why not?” her mother asked. “Couldn’t one of them want the insurance money?”

  “Maybe, but that wouldn’t be weird. Death said its weird.” Wren sat silent for a moment, then shook her head. “I give up. Tell me.”

  Death grinned. “Does the name Claudio Bender ring a bell?”

  “The yacht club guy? I mean, the supper club guy?”

  “The same.”

  “Who?” Edgar asked.

  “Claudio Bender,” Wren said. “He’s the man who built the Ozark Hills Supper Club, where we’re doing an auction tomorrow. But why would he steal a painting?”

  “It’s a long story. He’s related to the woman in the painting and he has a tendency to obsess over his own family history.” Death went through everything he knew about Bender and his family ties and outlined his reasoning.

  “It makes sense,” Wren said when he’d finished. Her mother nodded but her dad frowned.

  “How you gonna prove it?” he asked.

  “That I don’t know.” Death looked around. “Any ideas?”

  “What sort of proof do you need?” Emily asked.

  Death shrugged. “Most of the cases I work on that involve theft involve employee theft or industrial espionage. In either case, it’s an ongoing problem. I usually solve the matter by catching the thief in the act. But that’s not an option in this case.”

  “Is it like court cases you hear about?” Wren asked. “You need either physical evidence or an eyewitness testimony, or something like that?”

  “Something like that,” he agreed. “If I knew where Bender was keeping the things he steals, I could try to get enough evidence for the police to get a search warrant. But I have no idea. From what little I’ve found out about him so far, he has five or six houses and at least a couple high-dollar apartments, not all of them in the United States.”

  “So what does that leave?” Edgar asked.

  Death shifted in his chair. “There is one other way to convict someone, but it’s notoriously difficult. You can use circumstantial evidence, but it has to be pretty well overwhelming. That’s the only route I can see open, though. I’m just going to have to learn everything I can about Bender. I’ve already tied him to the portrait and to the lab where the switch was made. I suspect he’s behind the foundation that was responsible for funding the documentary, too.”

  “What documentary?” Emily asked.

  “The reason the painting left the museum in the first place was so it could be studied as part of a documentary on art during westward expansion,” Wren explained. She turned to Death. “Isn’t information about charitable foundations public?”

  “It should be, yes. I just need to get on the computer and start pulling up files.”

  “Would the articles about the yacht club help any?” Emily asked.

  Now it was Death’s turn to be confused. “What articles?”

  “I was thinking about where they found Bob’s body, and it seemed to me he could have been going to or from the yacht club,” Wren explained. “We went to the paper and Cameron copied a bunch of articles about it for us so we could look through the pictures to see if we saw him.”

  “Any luck?”

  “No. Mom and Randy and I have been poring over the files, but no one stands out. There might be something you could use about Bender, though, to help you with your background research.”

  “Great. I’ll have a look at it.”

  “Speaking of the yacht club,” Wren said, “after I finished up there last night I went over and talked to Mr. Larsen again. There are a bunch of the Viking village people down this weekend—”

  Death laughed. “Viking village people? Did they sing for you?”

  “Okay, very funny.”

  “S-A-C-K!” Death sang. “It’s fun to go out and S-A-C-K!”

  “I’m marrying a comedian,” Wren sighed.

  “Sorry.” He grinned, not looking at all contrite. “What did the Viking village people say?”

  “They’re having a harvest festival tomorrow. Tonight they’re going to get together around the fire and sing”—Death smirked—“and tell stories, and we’re invited to join them if we don’t have other plans.”

  “Do we have other plans?”

  “I don’t know. Do we? Do you want to go?”

  “Sure. Sounds fun. Do we have to dress up?”

  “Mr. Larsen said no.” Wren turned to her parents. “Mom, Dad, do you want to come?”

  They looked at one another. Edgar shrugged and Emily nodded.

  “Why not?” she said. “But first, I want to see this house you’re buying.”

  “Can I ask you a question, sir?” Death said.

  “Pop,” Edgar reminded him gently. “Call me Pop. If you want to.”

  Death smiled to himself. “Can I ask you a question, Pop?” The two men had walked down a long path that led through the woods behind the Sandburg house and came out on the shore of Truman Lake.

  “Sure. Shoot.”

  “How long were you a conservation agent?”

  “Almost fifty years. I started in April of ’65, when I was eighteen.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “A-yup.” The big man settled himself on a fallen log, scooting over to make room so Death could join him. It had been a dry autumn, and several feet of mud stretched between them and the blue expanse of the lake. The day was still, and the smooth surface of the water reflected back the sky and the now nearly bare trees on the shore.

  “You remember when the lake came in?”

  “Sure.”

  “Wren looked at some old aerial photographs. She says the old road that ran under the lake by the yacht club was still visible in ’78.”

  “And it still is, when the lake is down. Salvy and I went out that way in his boat the other day, the day before you and Randy joined us. You could walk across it if you really wanted to.” Edgar gave the younger man a shrewd, sideways look. “You think Bob is connected to that bloody Viking costume, don’t you?”

  “You find a dead body in the woods and bloody clothes hidden less than a mile away, it sure seems to me like it could be connected. And Ingrid Larsen’s father thought he saw her in the woods in a Viking costume the weekend she disappeared. If she was somehow connected to Bob’s death, it could explain her disappearance. Either she ran for some reason, or …”

  “Or Bob wasn’t the only victim.”

  “Is it possible her body could still be out there in the woods somewhere?” Death asked.

  “After Bob turned up in ’85, the police went over the woods with a fine-toothed comb. They figu
red he must have been carrying something durable that would help them identify him—a gun, a watch, a wallet. Never found a thing. Also never found another body.” Edgar shifted on the log. “That doesn’t mean there’s not one, but if there is, it’s most likely under the lake where it’ll never be found.”

  Half a dozen geese flew in, coasted low across the water while honking raucously, and wheeled off around a spit of land and out of sight.

  “We should put a real bench down here,” Death said. “This log gets uncomfortable.”

  “Why would Ingrid Larsen have even been around here?” Edgar persisted. “I understood she disappeared from a Renaissance faire in Cleveland. And she couldn’t have been looking for her father. She had no way of knowing he was down here.”

  “Maybe she didn’t come on her own,” Death said. “Maybe someone brought her here. And maybe I’m just overly suspicious and reading too much into coincidences. But it wasn’t Cleveland, it was Cincinnati. And Cincinnati is right across the river from Southgate, Kentucky.”

  “And what’s in Southgate, Kentucky?”

  “Nothing now. But in the early seventies there was a popular nightclub there. It was called the Beverly Hills Supper Club.”

  “When I was a girl my momma had these hollyhocks. They were her favorite flower. She had them planted in a big mass in the corner of the yard and in summer, when they were in bloom, we’d pull the blooms off and put little round hat pins in the stem for a head and make dollies of them. And they were exactly that color. So when other people look at my walls and see chapped babies’ butts and dried stomach medicine, I look at them and I see my momma’s flowers.”

  “Gosh, that’s sweet,” Wren said. “Now I feel bad about wanting to paint.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Myrna Sandburg said. “It’s gonna be your house. Paint it whatever color you like. I don’t care! I’m just explaining myself because people always see my living room and look at me like I’m insane. I told you my son built me a little house in his yard? You know what color he painted it inside? White! He actually painted it white!” She grinned. “But I found me a paint chip this exact color and let me tell you, that boy’s in for a surprise.”